


The Other Side

by Thea_K



Category: ONE OK ROCK
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Capital ANGST, Denial of Feelings, F/M, M/M, Sexy Times, Slow Burn, That co-dependency trope, That one they don't realise they're already married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thea_K/pseuds/Thea_K
Summary: Toru isn't gay; he's made it abundantly clear over the years. So when he starts to date the incarnation of his ideal girl, he doesn't immediately get why he can't shake the feeling that something's off. It's probably related to the fresh peach smell that's overwhelming the cherry-tobacco of the pillow on the other side of his bed.Or: The one inspired by the interviews where Taka said he woke up Toru when he had a sleep paralysis episode, and also usually rooms with him during tours.
Relationships: Morita Takahiro/Yamashita Toru, Moriuchi Takahiro/Yamashita Toru, Yamashita Toru/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 100
Kudos: 145





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and no offence is meant.
> 
> I'm pretty busy nowadays with university classes but writing fics gives me joy.
> 
> I don't have any experience with writing long multi-chaptered fics so I'm going to challenge myself with this one!
> 
> This one's inspired by the interviews where Taka said he woke up Toru when he had a sleep paralysis episode, and also usually rooms with him during tours. I wonder if this is why they also live in the same apartment block. It's pretty obvious that they're closer to each other than they are to the other two, at least in my eyes.
> 
> Unbeta-ed - lmk if you'd like to be my beta!

Toru isn't gay; he's made it abundantly clear over the years.

He's definitely attracted to girls. To be specific: the ingenue type with the clear wide eyes, sweet voice, girlish figure and minimal makeup. They would be caring and easy to get along with. He figured these would make for the best life partner and Toru's had many a relationship with them over the years. In bed, none of them could ever deny he was lacking in desire for them either. No complaints from them there, no-sir-ee.

So when he begins to date a chick that's the incarnation of his ideal, Toru doesn't immediately get why he can't shake off the feeling something's off. It's like playing a chord but one finger's not quite in the right position and he can't figure out why. But he has a strong suspicion that it's tied to another recent change in his life.

*********

It started a few weeks ago, when Taka had let himself in to Toru's apartment, unknowingly killing the mood between Toru and said girl, who were on his couch. Taka had been distractedly replying to something on his _keitai_ as he shucked off his shoes and walked over to the kitchen table. There he set down a plastic bag that looked to contain two takeaway _bentos_ \- most likely _shogayaki_. A black facemask hung from the singer's neck.

"Toru, I bo-" the vocalist had started, only for his words to die quickly as he caught sight of Ayaka pushing off of Toru and wiping a telltale back of the hand over her lips.

"Ah... shit," the vocalist ended, his face and neck colouring instantaneously. "I'll... let myself out. Sorry."

It took all but two blinks before the interrupted pair heard the front door click closed. Ayaka for the most part thought it was amusing but had mentioned that in the future it was probably wise to move things to the bedroom for more privacy. Toru, with blood pooled where anything bed-related was a definite yes, agreed and they had relocated as suggested.

Except that two minutes into making out in the much more comfortable horizontal position, Toru was pushed off unexpectedly a second time.

"What is it?" the puzzled guitarist had asked.

"How come I can smell a different cologne to what you're wearing, on the pillow I'm on?" Ayaka asked back, normally round eyes narrowed in a strange combination of desire and suspicion.

Toru's face fought to remain impassive as his mind raced for an explanation. How did one explain to the person they're seeing that sometimes their best friend (the one also possession of his apartment spare key) has frightening episodes of sleep paralysis? So frightening that he can't sleep and needs to be next to someone to feel safe enough to fall back asleep? That they became so used to the co-sleeping routine over the years that they indulged in it a few times a week even when the sleep paralysis largely went away?

Toru couldn't imagine any circumstance where someone wouldn't be weirded out by the truth so he dodges giving her an explanation.

"You've got a great nose," he compliments her. "You're right. It is a different cologne."

Her features tighten at his non-explanation but then quickly melt when he returns to the spot behind her ear that has her tightening her legs around his hips.

Later, as Toru's violently driving into her, their lips unlock and he buries his face in the pillow next to her head as he climaxes. It's the hardest he's cum in a while and it feels oh so good, _so good_.

But in that instant, and during the sweet after-shudders, he registers the musky-sweet cherry-tobacco cologne that permeates the pillow ( _Taka_ , his mind supplies) and the damage is done.

*********

Toru worries that things might be awkward and is guilty that they had devoured the _shogayaki_ without knowing what Taka's backup dinner plans were. But everything is seemingly normal the next day at practice. They are consummate professionals with years of experience, after all. Besides, Taka is famously intense when it comes to things he's passionate about that he basically becomes one track-minded. Like, literally.

At this moment, Taka's started work on a new song for the upcoming new _Rurouni Kenshin_ movie and he's cloistered in his own world.

Toru looks up from where he and the others are taking a break in the corner of the room. The band's coffee addicts are too nose-deep in their mugs to notice, but the guitarist watches as Taka, eyes closed, tests chords out on the keyboard. The vocalist's got headphones on so they can't hear the notes. But Toru's imagining colourful musical notes being born from Taka's fingertips, which float outwardly into the space around him. They start to waver and fade gently as the vocalist switches to a new idea, and different notes of a similar shade emerge from Taka's hands. Toru doesn't know when this vivid imagining of his started and why it's only when Taka is totally engrossed in doing something, or why it's only ever Taka in the first place.

The vocalist begins to hum melodies over the chords and Toru's gaze automatically zeroes in the other's mouth. The former's voice has never lost its magic to the guitarist, who is adamant that persuading the vocalist to join his band is definitely the best decision he's ever made in his life so far. It took a while but the shy vocalist had blossomed into the confident, hardworking and successful man that sits before them today, currently engrossed in a musical bubble of his own making.

A warmth suffuses Toru's chest and his eyes soften, unbeknownst to him, as he mulls these things over. He has no idea what he looks like when the vocalist slowly opens his eyes, which immediately find his from across the room. The look in the smaller man's eyes has a melancholic glint that contrasts with the slight uplift of the corner of his lips, and Toru gets the inkling this next song might be about love.

***

It's only after practice that Toru's earlier worries rear their head again. He lingers back as Ryota and Tomoya scurry off to fulfil their domestic duties. Taka is abnormally silent as they pat around and find their keys, _ketais_ , wallets and whatnot before locking up the studio. It's like he's waiting for Toru to broach the subject. So, Toru does.

"Her name's Ayaka- _chan_. Got introduced to her by Milet- _chan_. It's pretty new but I think this might get serious," the guitarist says around his cigarette as they wait for the taxi home.

"Oh really," Taka answers, eyes trained on the hangnail he's picking. "Good luck...and do your best, _ne_."

Toru takes a long drag and exhale of his cigarette before replying. He's not sure how to phrase this next bit and has to steel his nerves.

"About that... Can I ask you a favour? It's just that she noticed that the other side of the bed doesn't smell like me..."

Taka stops his fidgeting and blinks, but otherwise his eyes don't meet the other's. Long seconds pass and ash from the lit cigarette falls to the curb. Toru catches the tight pressing of the vocalist's lips from the corner of his eye. Taka nods slowly but otherwise no words emerge.

Toru immediately feels shame to have had to ask that question. It's a sinking feeling that compounds the guilt he felt earlier. He instinctively knows the vocalist is upset about it but that he understands. He can't explain it but he can sometimes feel the vocalist's mood in his own body as if he has a second person living inside him. Maybe it's only natural since they've worked side by side for almost a decade and a half.

Toru eyes the downcast vocalist trying to mask his feelings by stilling his movements. If he weren't feeling bad, he'd inwardly smile at the effort because it's futile: the smaller man lives and breathes his emotions. It's what makes their songs resonate with so many people.

Toru has seen Taka pull this nonchalant facade off before. It was the vocalist's armour, born of the hurtful experiences from the time he was a Johnny's Jr. The guitarist doesn't want Taka to ever feel the need to use it with him, and so his brain fumbles to find something to gently pry it off.

"Wanna have dinner together somewhere? I owe you for last night," Toru suggests.

Taka finally turns his head to face him, a bright smile painted on his lips, so unlike the one from earlier. ( _Fake_ , Toru's mind registers, dismay like a hot knife through butter.)

"Pass for tonight," the vocalist says. "I'm feeling tired and just want an early night."

That one's true, judging from the red in his eyes. There are ghosts of shadows underneath Taka's eyes that attest to this too. Toru is about to suggest they just order dinner in at his and that they go to bed earlier than they usually do. The weather's starting to get cold, which he knows is bad for the smaller man's voice. Toru thinks he might get out the electric blanket tonight. Taka would appreciate that.

But then he hits a logical snag, because the agreement to have Taka stop sleeping over is what precipitated this situation in the first place. Taka offers him a small smile, genuine this time, as he watches the conundrum silently play out on the guitarist's features. Yes, it's obvious that they've spent little time apart in the almost a decade and a half since the band formed because it's like he knows exactly what Toru's thinking.

*********

After, when he's had an uninspired dinner of instant ramen and is laying on his side of the bed, Toru thinks of Ayaka for what he realises is the first time today. He thinks about pulling his _keitai_ out and sending her a generic "how are you?" message.

But then his eyes land on the empty space to the left of him. The guitarist picks up the pillow from that side and takes a curious sniff. His brow furrows when he realises that it now smells like a weird mix of fresh peaches and cherry-tobacco. The scents clash and the weirdness makes him suddenly move his face away.

Toru, lost in his thoughts, falls into a fitful sleep with the pillow still in his arms.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The clock struck 12 o'clock and the repressed Toruka writer came out to play again, coaxed by the lovely comments.

It's after a dozen dates or so when it hits Toru like the sudden sharpness of _wasabi_ on the nose.

They've been on a picnic, he's been to hers many times, and Valentine's Day had seen him receive elaborately-wrapped gourmet chocolates. And yet, here they are on date number-whatever, again with ordered-in food.

"Don't get this the wrong way, but you don't cook, do you?" The guitarist mentions in between bites of _pad-thai_.

Ayaka delicately feeds the end of the noodle into her mouth, chews slowly and swallows before answering.

"No, I don't."

Toru squeezes the remaining lemon slice over his plate as he considers her admission.

"Do you mind me asking why?" He continues, taking more of the fresh chili and dumping it on top of his noodles.

"I just don't enjoy it. It's just so _mendokusai_ ," She pushes back playfully, tapping a napkin to her lips. "What's your excuse?"

"I'm hopeless," Toru confesses, thinking back on his woeful attempt to wrap watermelon around ham, and not _vice versa_. He folds the chili into his noodles and figures it's enough after three turnovers of his _hashi_.

"Besides Taka's great at it and he always makes plenty."

Speaking of, Toru's freezer is running low on the pre-made curry portions the singer made for him a while back. Toru frowns as he thinks that Taka hasn't been over in weeks.

"Hmm," Ayaka muses out loud. "Whoever marries Taka will be a lucky woman."

 _Or man_ , Toru thinks privately as he bites distractedly into a particularly chili-dense portion of his meal. Apparently he hasn't distributed the spice enough.

It's an open secret in the industry that the vocalist's body count isn't exclusive to the female gender. Toru's never been bothered by it but he would be lying if he said the thought of whether the other finds him attractive has never crossed his mind. Taka _does_ seem to engage exclusively in onstage fanservice shenanigans with him, and only on the rarest occasions, with Ryota. But it's all fake anyway, or so he thinks. Taka is a performer, through and through.

Toru breaks into a sweat as the heat of the chili burns through him. A bead rolls down his spine and a memory wells up unexpectedly.

*********

_Taka is leaning his back against the guitarist's own back as lights strobe around them. It's warm where their skin touches, almost uncomfortably so from the hot stage lights and the exertion of running to and fro. The shape of the vocalist's ribs are also worryingly apparent after the stress of several sleepless nights. Toru can feel every intake and expulsion of the vocalist's breath._

Somewhere in the murky depths of Toru's inner stream of consciousness, the memory dissolves into another one.

_It's the sticky middle of August and Toru is sweating where his back is pressed up against Taka's. He's already done everything he can to cool down without disturbing the other: kicked off the blanket, turned on the standing fan with outstretched fingertips, removed his shirt. Everything save for shucking off his shorts. Toru doesn't want to get up to turn on the A/C, afraid to jostle the smaller man awake._

_Oh, it's_ mendokusai _for sure. But to the guitarist it's worth it when the other's rapid uneven breaths calm into the slow deep ones that signal that his terror has abated..._

*********

"-ru..."

"Toru."

"Toru!"

A sharp elbow to his side and Toru guiltily snaps to, mouth burning, and cheeks too - but for a different reason.

It's the same elbow that incessantly pokes him in the middle of the night as the Ayaka tosses and turns to find a comfortable position. More than half asleep, Toru roughly bats the offending joint away with a groan. When this fails, he retreats to the furthest corner of his bed, shivering when Ayaka burrito-s the blanket away from him.

*********

Toru's head is aching when he shows up to the studio for a briefing about the new Honda CM they'll shoot next week. He discretely presses his forefingers against the divots in his skull above his eye-sockets, under the pretense of reading the notes before him.

"She's been keeping you up all night, hasn't she?" Taka whispers to him as someone helps the Honda delegate plug in his laptop and set up the projector.

Toru turns his head and assesses the cheeky smirk that graces his neighbour's cheeks. It doesn't quite reach the other's eyes, which scan his face with worry and something else that Toru can't place. The guitarist wants to tell him the truth but his manly pride lets the assumption go uncorrected. He's also preoccupied with his lament that his swollen sinuses means he can't enjoy the cherry-tobacco scent that the singer's closeness affords.

Taka hesitantly raises the back of his hand to Toru's forehead when the latter fails to answer. The vocalist places the back of his other hand on his own forehead to compare the temperature. His obvious concern and the dawning fact that it's the first time he's touched the guitarist in a while sends a rush of blood to Toru's head.

 _W_ _hy would that even matter?_ Toru mulls.

 _Because you miss hanging out with him_ , his unconscious replies when he's watching Taka prepare some _ochazuke_ and _shoga-yu_ later that evening. Maybe it's the falling back into routine after weeks of missing it that gives Toru a renewed appreciation of how Taka adeptly opens the right cupboards to find the utensils he needs as he works in Toru's kitchen. The singer begins to quietly hum to accompany his busy hands. The guitarist's eyes are half mast as he watches musical notes waft from the smaller man and towards where he lounges. He lifts a finger to touch them but they're gone too quickly. 

"Isn't it your night to have dinner with Takeru?" Toru suddenly remembers as the vocalist places the tray of food on the living room coffee table. The last of the musical notes shimmer and fade, like a trick of the light. 

"Yeah but he's okay with it," the vocalist replies, biting his lower lip.

Toru catches the gesture as he lifts himself off his prostrate position on the couch. He's never told Taka that the lip-biting is the vocalist's tell when he's not entirely truthful. Not that Toru has needed an obvious tell in the last few years. The vocalist's eyes flick to his and Toru lets him know with a small quirk of an eyebrow that he knows what's up.

Taka sits down cross-legged on the other side of the coffee table and watches the guitarist tuck into the simple meal. His _keitai_ , usually glued to his hand so he can check his IG obsessively, is nowhere to be seen. Maybe he's been missing their time together, too. He chuckles when Toru, impatient for the home-cooked meal, scalds his tongue. The steam of the _shoga-yu_ finally revives the latter's sinuses and he breathes easy when maraschino and smoke makes it way in. 

An echo of Ayaka's voice rings in Toru's ears.

_Whoever marries Taka will be a lucky woman._

Toru's eyes roam over the singer's face over the top of his bowl and he suddenly feels an inexplicable ache that has nothing to do with his illness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Semester's done and I'm finally emerging from a week of much needed rest!
> 
> It's a short chapter while I get back into the groove of writing.

It's one thing to become accustomed to not sharing his bed with Taka anymore. In fact, you could say Toru was learning to compensate for the loss of this ritual by increasing the time he spent in Taka's physical sphere during the waking hours.

If an opportunity presented itself in the form of an unoccupied seat near the vocalist, Toru was there. If Taka needed a break from writing to make himself tea, a sudden lethargy necessitating coffee would overtake the guitarist. And if the elevator was full, the taller of the two never failed to find himself pressed side-to-side just so, with the smaller man.

(Once, squashed chest-to-chest in their apartment block's only working elevator, Taka had taken it upon himself to look down at his feet, else it be more awkward than it already was. Toru noted that the vocalist had freshly washed his hair. Whatever product it was, it was almond-scented. It paired quite nicely with his cologne.)

This newfound clinginess, Toru knew, hadn't escaped Taka's notice.

At first, the other seemed to reciprocate. Sometimes the guitarist suspected the vocalist deliberately placed himself in positions that invited the other to approach him; why else should he sit away from the others? With Taka's head lolled back onto the back of a couch and eyes half-shuttered, facing towards the guitarist - how could the latter resist? They both knew, too, that they could probably afford to wait for the next trip of the elevator. That harried mother with the pram and the salary man glaring at his wristwatch would most likely thank them for their consideration. And if their fingers brushed when simultaneously reaching for cups in the cupboard, one could pass it off as accident, or to familiarity enough to not jolt away as you would with a stranger in the same situation. But Toru knew; he wasn't alone in this gravity-like pull.

Yet over time, it was as if in these circumstances Taka would remember himself. One second, Toru could swear they were both luxuriating in the soothing closeness they had previously indulged in only during Taka's sleepovers. Then, like a snap of a guitar string, Taka would blink and retreat behind a metaphorical wall. The physical and figurative warmth would disappear, like thickened cloud obscuring the sun.

Now, when Toru's _keitai_ chimes with the arrival of a message, the vocalist would whip out his own and, hunched over, be totally engrossed in composing an IG post. The tea that Taka had been intent on would suddenly be bad for his already disturbed sleep, he would argue. And:

"Go ahead, _chotto toire_ ," he would say, biting his lip, as Toru would board the elevator. He would leave just enough time to say it before the doors would close and Toru's brain could catch up.

And Toru kinda gets it. It _is_ above and beyond what people would think normal for friends, the distance they've allowed the other to breach of their personal space. They never do it in front of Ayaka either, which Toru knows with unexplainable instinct that it would feel wrong. In fact, they take care not to interact so much in her presence that she makes a comment.

"Are you sure you guys are best friends, or what?" She says, noticing that Taka has barely glanced their direction since arriving at the party and nodding their way.

It was really just a small gathering at Tomoya's to celebrate the announcement that his wife was with child again. The neat apartment is strewn with both confetti and couples. Ayaka fidgets by Toru's side, not familiar with most people and is ironically less at ease than the vocalist, who is the only unpaired adult in the room.

Toru watches as Taka's face contorts into unflattering expressions as he tries to get a toddler, who peeks above her mother's shoulder, to laugh. The toddler merely gives her signature grumpy face and the vocalist pouts but is not really put off in the least. He pokes a single finger to her cheek, to which she furrows her brows.

Someone calls Taka's name, and the vocalist turns his head to place from whom the call came from. With an abrupt surge of energy and the sticky hands of a one-year-old, the toddler springs forward and grabs the vocalist's face to regain his undivided attention. She's young, but seems to understand what it means to lose the gentle intensity of Taka's focus. 

Wide-eyed and agape, the shock gives way to Taka's characteristic, uninhibited laugh. It startles the other guests, who turn to regard the mirthful vocalist. Beside him, Ayaka muffles her giggle behind her delicate fingers. (Fingers that Toru dimly thinks are not solid and strong, and often too loose in their hold when jacking him off.)

"Yes, best friends," Toru murmurs, a wistful smile into his glass of beer.

*********

It's not until later that night that Toru is made devastatingly aware that it isn't just physical intimacy he's lost with the cessation of Taka's nightly visits.

Now when he looks back, he remembers the nights spent telling Taka all his embarrassing stories from childhood in an effort to distract the other from his terrors. That time he bit that girl who dared to call him Gachapin, that time he got laughed at for thinking the bellybutton was the vagina, and of course, that time he fell asleep in class and woke himself up because he farted... all of it was worth disclosing if it meant his steady voice would reassure the vocalist that it would be okay to close his eyes.

In the morning, turning over on his pillow to face the bleary-eyed guitarist, Taka would either question the validity of the said stories ( _uso, desshou?!_ ), or laugh his wide-mouthed laugh. Sometimes, after his laughter's died away, he would reach over and tug on Toru's blonde, messy hair, and absently remark that the strands are growing longer but look good on the guitarist. Then, over coffee and a breakfast of _natto_ over steaming _shirogohan_ , they would quietly talk about their plans for the day, week, month. Those days, under the dappled sunlight filtering into Toru's kitchen, it was easy to forget that people grew up, changed and moved on. 

*********

Toru is fluffing his pillow when Ayaka casually asks about where they stay at when they're recording in L.A.

"Tomoya, Ryota and I usually rent out a short stay apartment but Taka has his own apartment in Santa Monica," the guitarist informs her as he lifts the blanket and slides into bed.

"Oh, cool! Let's go visit him next month then. I can take a week off," Ayaka says, toothbrush in hand.

The gears in Toru's brain come to grinding halt.

"If it's okay with him, that is," she says carefully, noticing the blankness that has overtaken Toru's face.

"Actually, he did say he didn't know how long he would be over there and it would be lonely," Ayaka says, retreating into the ensuite to find the toothpaste. An icy-hot numbness spreads like wildfire though the guitarist's body, pinning him to the bed.

"He said that, did he?" Toru answers, mouth on autopilot.

"Yeah, when you went to have a smoke," the reply comes, from around a mouthful of foam.

So, it's one thing to become accustomed to not sharing his bed with Taka anymore. It's quite another to realise the growing wall between them is even higher than Toru's thought. The inches that used to separate them are already a thousand miles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I call this chapter "Come on Toru, even the one-year-old gets it."
> 
> Reference for Toru's bedhead is the #StayAtHome version of Kanzen Kenkaku Dreamer :)
> 
> Thank you to all the lovely people that left a comment last chapter! xx
> 
> Edit: After some thought, I decided to de-identify the child mentioned in this chapter. DM if you want to discuss.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm as excited for this next chapter as you are! Literally, my brain wouldn't let me stop typing until it was finished.

Toru quietly takes in the view of the Tokyo skyline as he exhales a puff of smoke into the chilled twilight air. He pays no mind when the smoke ring hangs a while before it is taken apart by a light breeze. This rooftop is Toru's sanctuary; where he escapes to clear his head.

The evening is rapidly approaching. In the space of a slowly savoured cigarette, the lit windows of buildings start to appear brighter. Toru mulls over how it takes descending darkness to realise the lights have been on for a while. Funny how a lack of something can bring said something into sharp relief.

The guitarist taps a finger to the side of his cigarette to rid it of the lengthening ashes.

Behind him, the sound of a rusty metal handle and the swing of a door. Toru tenses. Light, measured footsteps approach.

The guitarist takes a long drag, willing the moment of peace to last longer but knowing it won't. He sighs out the last of the smoke and lets the cigarette butt fall from his fingers. Looking down, he crushes it with his heel.

When he looks up, Taka fills his peripheral vision. The singer brings his forearms to rest on the railing, clasping his hands together. In silence, side by side, they contemplate the hundreds of lights that resemble static fireflies. How many more could they not see from this vantage point?

Toru turns his head and eyes the thinness of the black hoodie Taka is sporting.

"We should get inside; it's cold," the guitarist states, coolly.

"It is," the vocalist acknowledges, "Soon."

Taka finally swivels to face the taller man. His eyes have an unnatural shine to them and Toru can sense a jitter of guilt that's not his own; it piques his interest. The smaller of the two draws a steadying breath.

"If you don't have any plans, want to come over to mine later? I've got heaps of frozen food I need to eat before..." The singer’s voice trails off when he realises what he's about to say.

The unspoken words sting and Toru has half a mind to make up an excuse not to go. It's been more than a week but Toru still hasn't wrapped his head around the confused jumble he feels about Taka going to L.A. But any excuse withers at the sight of shadowed hollows underneath Taka's eyes; eyes that plead wordlessly for forgiveness.

A thought crystallises that Toru's been looking but hasn't been seeing. The other's avoidance of tea was rooted in truth after all. But it's not to say two things can't be true, the guitarist’s ego argues. Taka has been actively pulling away from him, he knows. It also still smarts to know he's the last to be told of Taka's plans, and not from the horse's mouth either.

The guitarist doesn’t know what to say. For want of doing something, Toru folds his hands into his jacket pockets and an impenetrable look unfolds on his face. He pulls out his _keitai_.

The light in Taka's eyes deaden. The vocalist nods, looks down and turns to go. The retreating footsteps are like the ominous, slowed-down ticking of a clock.

But something in Toru roars awake and vehemently opposes the thought of the vocalist's retreating back.

" _Na_..."

He turns around to see Taka's hand pause on the door handle.

"I miss home-cooked food."

*********

Taka sets down his keys and wallet on the marble of the breakfast island and sets about flicking on the lounge room lights. The ducted heating on the ceiling quietly whirs to life.

Toru finishes unlacing his Chuck Taylor's, toes them off and steps up from the _genkan_.

"Gonna quickly change clothes," Taka throws over his shoulder as he shuffles to the bedroom.

The guitarist heads over to the couch, unpockets his _keitai_ and sits down. Considering the device for a moment and glancing towards the bedroom, he presses the volume button all the way down until the screen reads "Älarms only; Until you turn this off". He places the device carefully on the coffee table and watches until the lockscreen, featuring a silly group shot of the band, darkens and shuts off.

Toru doesn't remember the last time he's been in Taka's apartment. They normally hung out at his, owing to their sleeping situation and also because he has a home studio while the vocalist doesn't.

His hooded eyes wander over the barren walls and the spartan furniture. He's struck at how little the place has changed since they moved into their apartments over three years ago. There are no magazines on the coffee table, nor any framed photos on the matching side tables - or any of the walls for that matter. There's hardly anything that signifies the singer lives there except for his well-used kitchen and the few pieces of gym equipment neatly tucked into one corner of the open living space. The apartment is clean and neat but sterile and almost impersonal.

 _This doesn't look like a home_ , Toru thinks.

And a tumbler in the lock of the guitarist's brain resounds as it clicks into position.

_Nobody's home._

When Taka sings that song, it's not just his childhood home he's talking about, Toru realises with a sudden tightening of his chest. It's no wonder the vocalist avoids returning to his empty apartment when he can help it. How could he stand it?

The kaleidoscope of Toru's memories with Taka shifts seismically, disorienting him.

All at once, the guitarist understands how much it really means for Taka to have him close, especially now that Tomoya and Ryota have started families of their own. The vocalist may have made amends with his parents and siblings but he knows things were left asunder for too long for them to ever be his first port of call. It makes sense that Taka jumped on the suggestion that he buy an apartment in the same mansion block Toru had been thinking of buying in. 

_The apartments are so close, you can come over to mine any time_ , Toru remembers saying. Privately he hopes the proximity would help with the singer's night terrors.

 _Are you sure you won’t get sick of my face?_ Taka had joked.

 _Never_ , Toru had responded truthfully. 

The guitarist repeatedly blinks back the sudden moisture that clouds his vision.

He swallows thickly when he remembers the thoughtless way he had effectively told the vocalist that he was not welcome to spend his nights with him any more. His own callousness astounds him.

Toru’s face is turned downwards to the parqueted floor and he is cradling his forehead and jaw with his fingertips, when a pair of socked feet enter his vision. A pair of knees descend to the ground, and the signature cherry-tobacco smell, before:

" _Doushita no_?"

Unable to trust his voice, the guitarist remains still as he fights to compose himself. The feeling in his chest is robbing him of breath. A strong, warm hand finds its way to his neck and the fingers scratch gently, their rhythm soothing.

“Did you fight with Ayaka-chan?”

Toru jerks up at the sudden mention of her name. His eyes catch on to Taka’s, which are mere inches away. The latter’s large eyes are rounded with concern and his forehead is crinkled. They search his for an explanation and Toru’s new perspective can’t catch up.

The guitarist can’t quite believe that for all of his insensitivity towards the other in the last few months, it’s the vocalist who is doing the comforting.

Taka, who is small and swallowed up by his oversized sleepwear, and is kneeling before him in an apartment that is large enough for a family but houses only one. 

Taka, whose fiery words inspires millions of others to never give up on their dreams and whose lyrics betray an intensely feeling heart behind all the rockstar bravado. 

Taka, whose grateful happiness at being part of a made family is expressed in the colourful musical notes that leave his mouth and in homemade dishes.

Taka, whose presence at his side has been so unwavering over the years that Toru’s taken it for granted, like how one forgets the feeling of clothes against skin.

Taka, who he’s neglected despite claiming to be his best friend, but is immediately there by his side. 

Taka, who will soon be on the other side of the Pacific Ocean for who knows how long.

Toru feels like he’s being dragged by a vicious riptide in a direction that is opposite to where he wants to go. His limbs feel heavy although he knows he must thrash against it. His breaths are gasped out between salty water. His head is rapidly going under. A question, like a kick underwater, to break through the surface. 

“Why are you leaving?” he croaks.

The fingers on Toru’s nape abruptly halt in their motions. 

Taka sees in Toru’s face that all the flimsy, half-true explanations he’s given to the others, to the staff and his family would be seen through immediately. No “I work better over there without distractions”, “I wanna live where I can walk the streets without being recognized” or “I’m just tired and need a bit of a break” will cut it.

The vocalist exhales and places his forehead against the guitarist’s. Toru, overwhelmed and conscious of his discomposure, lowers his gaze. 

“You know, we’re not in our twenties any more. I might still have reservations about starting a family at this age, when we can’t fully devote ourselves to them while we’re in a band, but Ryota and Tomoya are in their right to do so,” the vocalist starts.

“At one stage, I do want a family with children of my own. But I’ve seen first hand what it’s like to have one parent with always one foot out the door, and another parent who, deep down, will always wonder what it would have been like if they hadn’t had to stop doing what they loved. The resentment builds up and it’s the children that suffer.”

A few moments pass and the fingers on Toru’s neck slip away. Without opening his eyes, Toru feels the singer pull away to sit on his heels.

“I thought...” Taka’s voice cracks.

“I thought I had gotten so lucky and found a great compromise... that I could do this with... someone that understood...”

“... But I was wrong,” the vocalist ends, his voice barely above a choked whisper.

Somewhere, some other people might be standing, huddled together on a Tokyo rooftop, watching all the lights in the nightscape. At this hour, the lights are glimmering at their brightest, sharp against the black of night.

Here, under warm-coloured downlights, Toru finally opens his eyes and _sees_.

He breathes in the beloved cherry-tobacco. And then:

“ _Chotto_...” he breathes out, before giving into the gravity of the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SQUEEEEEEEEE!!!! XD
> 
> Squee with me in the comments below!


	5. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *peeks from behind her hands* ... uh, don't hate me okay? You'll see why.
> 
> Read the notes at the end if you get confused 😅

The lips pressed firmly against Taka’s own are chapped and the tongue that makes its way into his mouth is hot and insistent, prodding here and there. The warm breath that fans over his face makes him feel like his breath is being stolen out of him. He worries because, as a singer, breath is everything. The vocalist also worries that the fingers that desperately dig into his hips to urge him forward will leave bruises later. For some people, walking the line between pain and pleasure seems to enhance the latter. But right now, the sensations put him on edge. And not in a good way either.

Taka’s mind is wandering: a sure sign that this isn’t going to end well. He gives it another few seconds to see if he can get into it (he did welcome _this_ , after all) but it’s no use. Bringing his hands to the other’s chest, the singer gently pushes the other away.

“I’m sorry,” Taka says. “This isn’t gonna work out.”

“It’s just... too fast,” he tries to explain.

A confused expression before hurt pinches the other’s face. Taka sighs and pushes a frustrated hand through his hair. It's useless; his heart is firmly elsewhere.

*********

Takeru finds him morosely nursing his fourth G&T, tucked away from the crowd.

“ _Dame_?” The actor says, hip checking the bar counter.

Taka merely hangs his head and swirls his drink. Takeru clucks in disappointment and reaches over to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. 

In that moment, the catchy vocals and first guitar strains of _Uptown Funk_ come over the club speakers as if someone’s gleefully found the last free spot to add to the fifty billion needles they’ve stuck into their Taka voodoo doll lately. A memory of a dance and a hug bleeds from the singer’s pierced chest. He runs a hand over his face, if only to stop the groan that begs to escape from his throat. 

Takeru knows that gesture well, so he swivels the adjacent bar stool around and sits on it backwards. Might as well get comfortable.

“He’s still with her,” the vocalist half-yells after the song’s over and a new one starts. 

The actor lifts a single brow at the non-sequitur but waits patiently.

“It’s been a month - much longer than the other ones,” Taka continues.

The brow descends as the singer’s meaning becomes clear. He isn’t talking about the random foreign cutie that picked him up earlier. 

_Oh boy_ , Takeru thinks. Time to make himself really comfortable then. The actor looks up and gestures wordlessly to a free bartender to make him another of Taka’s drink. 

“They usually don’t last this long,” Taka mumbles into his glass, before draining it. He knows he shouldn’t drink much more than this with his weak alcoholic tolerance yet he can’t bring himself to care.

The actor considers his friend's predicament and feels protective of the smaller man. He hasn't been there from the start but he knows enough about what his friend has endured to get to where he is now.

“You know what I think about the whole thing,” Takeru says pointedly. “If he hasn’t noticed your feelings by now, he’s too dumb for you to be wasting your time. And if he _has_ noticed your feelings and is still cavorting around, that’s worse still.”

“He’s _not_ dumb,” the vocalist fiercely defends. “You know how long it took me to figure it out myself.”

Privately, however, he's also incredulous at how someone could regularly share a bed with someone else for years, and still not get the hint that there’s more than something platonic going on.

Takeru, like the good friend he is, just slides over the new drink the bartender’s made over to Taka. With any luck, perhaps the singer will immediately pass out in his bed later and not spend another night pining over his band mate. The actor, who thinks of himself as a realist and a problem solver, can’t bring himself to say meaningless words of comfort. So, instead, he says:

“I think it’s time for you to start peeling off this Band-Aid. Rip it off if you can. You’ve been stuck in this same routine and it’s going nowhere.”

The singer turns his sullen doe eyes to the actor, who is satisfied to see he’s somewhat getting through to the former. 

“Maybe consider having a break in L.A. and use that time to write new stuff too.”

*********

The idea is still swirling in Taka's inebriated brain hours later when he lies half-awake in his bed. He still can't (won't?) fall sleep easily on his own. After all these years, it's like he's waiting for the assurance of his father's heavy snoring from the bedroom next door, or the soft ones of the then little Hiro, who insisted on sleeping in a cot next to his beloved _nii-chan_. Only after hearing his loved ones sleeping soundly would Taka let sleep take him.

Here, in his empty apartment, it's dead silent, save for the rustle of his sheets as he flops sleeplessly from side to side. Inevitably his thoughts drift to the one person who can cure him of this insomnia, but is ironically currently the cause of it.

Toru doesn't snore - just breathes heavily sometimes - and often waits for Taka to fall asleep first anyway.

 _Is it long enough for that sentence to be expressed in past tense?_ The singer wonders, his brain leaping between associations and landing on a cherished memory.

_Toru, with eyes even droopier than his normal Gachapin gaze, opens his hotel room door (#35) to a shaken Taka, whose arms are wrapped around himself._

_"What is it?" the guitarist says, his usual deep voice made rougher with sleep. He tries valiantly to blink himself awake._

_"Can I stay here with you?" the vocalist half-whispers, a tremor evident in his voice._

_The guitarist, still clearly at the cusp of consciousness, just_ mmm _s_ _in assent, turns and stumbles back towards the bed._

_Taka, catching the front door, pushes his way inside, and makes sure it's locked. The guitarist has collapsed belly forward on to bed by the time Taka slides off his shoes. The singer stands awkwardly at the foot of the queen-sized hotel bed, which takes up most of the small room._

_Sensing Taka’s dithering, Toru lifts his head slightly and shuffles to one side of the bed. He pats the other side and mumbles:_

_"_ Kochi koi _."_

_Taka walks over and gingerly lifts the sheets to get in. Once he's settled, he becomes aware of what he realises is Toru's scent on the pillows and linen. It's his cologne: usually ocean-fresh in the day, it's now faded into a lingering sandalwood._

_Taka has nothing to do but breathe it in as his eyes adjust to the dark. When they do, they see that Toru's are closed in repose. The guitarist doesn't move and neither does he. Quiet minutes pass and Taka's jerky heartbeat calms to a steady beat._

_Carefully, the vocalist brings the side of his index finger towards the guitarist's nose. He withdraws it after he feels rhythmic puffs of air. He closes his eyes._

_Taka feels a wave of gratefulness wash over him at the presence at his side, a feeling that deepens into something else entirely when this night visit turns into a weekly event._

_The scene morphs into a morning like so many others, when Taka rouses to the feeling of the bed slightly rocking as the other reaches for his_ keitai _to check the time and read the_ _morning news with his back against the bed head._ _Turning over with eyes half-open, often wondering if still in a dream, the singer watches the guitarist: drinks in the sight of the mole on his neck and cheek, the pout of his lips, the straight line of his nose._ _His gaze reaches Toru’s eyes, which snap to his before he greets him in his usual way._

_“Sleep well?”_

_Rested, warm and with a heart in danger of overflowing, Taka simply nods and smiles._

In the dark, a droplet falls a short distance and lands on a pillow, shortly to be lost in the feathery down within.

*********

The next day, Taka walks the familiar corridors from his apartment to Toru’s with a plastic bag of containers in hand. They’re filled with beef stroganoff, inspired by the dish the band enjoyed during their recent tour through Europe. As usual, he cooked much more than he can eat by himself. He knows the taller man appreciates having these pre-prepared portions on the nights they come home exhausted from the studio.

The vocalist turns the corner and sees a food delivery man turning to leave as Toru’s front door shuts. He surmises from the curly writing on the man’s uniform that he’s from the fancy Thai restaurant a few blocks over. As he makes his way out, the man politely nods at Taka, who is rooted on the spot at the sound of the voices emanating from behind the closed door.

He hears a feminine chuckle and, try as he might to be mature about the situation, Taka can’t fight back the shock at the realisation that he’s not needed any more. He blinks once, twice. Gripping the bag in his hand, he does an about-turn and retraces his steps.

The sound of his front door swinging and clicking closed echoes against the bare walls as he walks over to his refrigerator and sets down the plastic bag. Mind numb, he kneels and opens the freezer compartment. Reaching into the bag, he retrieves the containers. They’re still warm to the touch and he knows it’s not good for the refrigerator to put them straight in. He shoves them in anyway.

Later, when Taka’s on his couch, he catches sight of the one framed photo that stands unassumingly on his side table. It’s of the band during the shooting of the _C.h.a.o.s.m.y.t.h_ MV. The other three grin widely at the camera; he alone is grinning at the man his left arm wraps around. Reaching over, he carefully tips over the frame until the hopeful look that graces his face in the photo is mercifully gone.

Biting his lip, Taka forces himself to front up to the reality that the best thing for him is to finally break out of this strange holding pattern and let go while his head’s still held high. L.A. it is. He hopes his resolve lasts until then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I might as well tell the story from "the other side" too 😅 
> 
> For clarity, this Interlude takes place between Chapters 1 and 2.
> 
> A massive thank you for all the people that commented last chapter, and for the people that even signed up or found me on social media to let me know their thoughts! The end is nearing and I'll have to ask for your patience for a little longer. Not gonna take that long since I'm on break, xx


	6. Interlude II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Interlude continues... the last one I swear for this part! Takes place between Chapters 3 and 4.
> 
> Please continue to be patient with me! 🙏 Writing in other characters' POVs is great since our favourite guitarist misses so many details. 
> 
> You may or may not want to listen to this later: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xiX04K6cWS0

“ _Mou_... time for a break,” Taka yawns, stretching his arms above his head from where he sits behind the keyboard.

Quick as lightning, Toru’s on his feet and announces:

“Alright - who wants me to make them coffee?”

“ _Hai_ , _onegaishimasu_ ,” the other band members answer in chorus from their respective corners.

“No, thank you,” Taka politely declines, blinking fatigue from his eyes.

Tomoya’s ears perk up at the strange response. Wasn’t it their habit to escape to the break room mid-afternoon, together, while he and the bassist took the opportunity to check in on their families?

Ryota looks up from where he’s removing the bass guitar’s strap around his neck and catches the band’s leader do a double-take.

“You don’t want your tea?” Toru asks confusedly of Taka, who starts to shuffle through the music sheets that litter his working space as if to tidy them. The latter only shakes his head and refuses to meet his eyes. 

The guitarist waits a beat or two but it’s clear that the vocalist has no intention to move. Crest-fallen, the taller man leaves the room without further preamble. 

Tomoya, securing his drumsticks on his seat, exchanges a worried look with Ryota, who is torn over whether he should go after the guitarist. Their combined attention turns to the still-seated smaller man.

Taka pauses briefly in his task when he feels he’s being scrutinised. 

“Need to avoid caffeine,” he says as his eyes flick guiltily between theirs. Setting down the music sheets, the singer’s eyes take on a dull sheen before admitting: “I haven’t been sleeping well.” 

“ _Sou ka_?” Tomoya considers before an electronic tune cuts off the conversation.

Ryota sheepishly lifts and points to his flashing _ketai_ before excusing himself from the room. The drummer waits until the door’s closed before daring to prod open the proverbial can of worms. He grabs a stool and drags it to where the keyboard is. 

“You kinda look exhausted,” Tomoya ventures, hoping that the downcast Taka will bite at the opening.

They never really talk about it but he and the bassist have had prime front row seats to the ongoing saga since the beginning. They’ve long since learned to accept that they have no choice but to room together during tours. The two are also experts in turning a blind eye and ear when hotel receptionists not so discreetly try to the confirm that the other pair’s opting for a queen bed for their room (not a twin share like his and Ryota’s) is a deliberate choice.

Taka’s head bobs in acknowledgement and he picks up an errant pencil, rolling it between his fingers. 

“I haven’t told anyone yet,” the singer says haltingly, “but I’m planning to start working in L.A. more, soon.” 

Tomoya reads the unsaid sentiments in the air as easily as he reads sheet music. He wants to say it’s too soon for Taka to give up; what’s a mere month to more than a decade of shared memories? But he’s not immune to the slump in his band mate’s shoulders and the worrying gauntness in his face. Actually, screw that: this has been going on for far longer than a month. The drummer has the privilege of a lively home and a cosy shared bed to return to every night. He thankfully doesn’t have to deal with a constant “will they/won’t they?” that must be eating up his band mate and friend inside.

“I support you, whatever you decide,” the drummer says sincerely, to which the vocalist replies with a rueful smile. 

“You know it’s not wrong to put yourself first sometimes,” Tomoya adds, “I believe in you, Takahiro.”

 _I believe in both of you_ , he adds silently, pressing a hand to Taka’s head fondly before exiting the room to give the vocalist space to ponder his words.

*********

If well-meaning friends’ wishes and tongue-in-cheek interventions were enough (Exhibit A: “oh we’re much too tired to club tonight; you guys enjoy yourselves!”), things wouldn’t have devolved into the clusterfuck unfolding before their very eyes. 

As it stands, Ryota sweats when he thinks that he’s way above his head alone. Tomoya, his fellow viewer/accomplice in this drama, has gone home early on the account of his son allegedly swallowing a Lego piece. 

Their producer, still wanting to make the most of their studio time, suggested they record an acoustic version of one of their songs. Ryota gleefully thinks he should engineer an excuse to shove the band’s vocalist and guitarist together in a room and not let them leave until they’ve hashed things out. But the vocalist’s mouth and brain are much faster than his. 

“Can I record _Last Dance_?” Taka volunteers. And before the guitarist can open his mouth: “Alone?”

And so that’s how the put-out bassist winds up with an equally put-out Toru in a far corner of the control room, watching with their producer and various sound engineers as Taka accompanies himself on guitar in the studio.

 _Try to remember what brought us together / And to forget what’s driving us apart / You know we can’t wait here forever / Just making time and going nowhere_... 

Ryota side-eyes the band leader, whose poker face is woefully bad in the face of this bad romance. The guitarist may have his arms crossed in annoyance (the bassist winces when he remembers getting confronted about knowing about the L.A. plan), but the soft look in his eyes gives him away.

 _Yosh_ , the bassist thinks. If patiently waiting for their respected leader to wake up and smell the coffee hasn’t worked so far, perhaps ripping the carpet from under his feet will.

“Sometimes I wonder when Mori-chan will realise that he doesn’t need us anymore,” Ryota says, eyes fixed on the vocalist, who whisper-sings with his bleeding heart on display. The only indication he’s been heard is in the hardening of the leader’s grip of his own elbow.

“He can sing, play his own instruments, and speak English better than all of us,” the bassist barrels on, “what’s stopping him from ditching us and going it alone when he leaves Japan?”

Toru flinches, letting Ryota know that his deadly combination has landed successfully.

“But he’s got us, here,” the guitarist counters weakly, wrenching his attention from the man in question.

_We can try to keep the love from fading / ‘Coz all we have are reasons to be gone / Remember when you used to make me smile / But lately I don’t feel the same ..._

Ryota turns to his long-time friend, whose lead he’s never questioned until now, hating what he needs to say but knowing it’s the only way forward. 

“Does he? I don’t think so.” 

He throws out the barely veiled barb and sees it embed itself in the band leader’s pain-struck eyes. Ryota lifts his chin slightly, bolstered by his remembrance of the lone singer standing off to the side as he wistfully watches the couples and children clap and wish Tomoya and his family congratulations.

The guitarist’s Adam’s apple bobs and he drops his eyes in an admission of defeat.

“I’ll be out for a smoke,” he rasps.

He’s gone before Taka’s voice breaks on the last line.

 _Care for you I always will ..._

*********

Later, a weary Taka exits the studio, eyes darting around the control room in furtive search of someone. Ryota, in the midst of pitching an acoustic instrumental track to their producer, catches the singer’s attention and gestures with his face towards the rooftop. 

Without consciously deciding it, the vocalist finds himself facing a rusted metal door that leads to the outside. 

The part of him that remembers his parents’ steely faces when they told him to get out of their house screams at him to let go of the door handle and just leave. His other hand holds tightly on to his _keitai_. On it, an email from their American producer sits waiting to be answered; _Solo?_ , the subject line reads. 

A draught from underneath the door whistles of the oppressive cold beyond it. There are so many reasons to back away and no one would fault him for it. 

Yet something, _someone_ , is calling out to Taka. 

His own personal heartbreak aside, out there is his best friend, who he knows down to the very marrow of his bones, is hurting. By some weird voodoo, he feels it like a malaise that drains his limbs of energy. Taka isn’t so self-centred to think the guitarist is brooding over him, although he knows the other is upset about not being told of the vocalist’s plans. By way of Occam’s razor, he guesses that maybe Toru’s had a fight with Ayaka.

Staring down at his _keitai_ , Taka thinks this might be the last time in a while that he can be there in person for the guitarist. He owes his life to this man: the first to really _see_ him and give him a chance when he was at his lowest, even if he barely registers in the other’s eyes now, he thinks. And if he’s being honest with himself, he just really misses his friend. If only for a night, the vocalist wants things to go back to simpler times and they could just comfortable _be_. 

So, pocketing his _keitai_ and pulling down the thin sleeves over his exposed arms and heart, Taka turns the door handle and pushes his way to the other side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drown in the feels with me 😭 
> 
> Let me know if you think our fave two idiots are just wasting time chasing dreams...


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand we're back to our regular program... 
> 
> I'M SO EXCITED - are you excited? XD

**Previously, before the Interludes:**

_“I thought...” Taka’s voice cracks._

_“I thought I had gotten so lucky and found a great compromise... that I could do this with... someone that understood...”_

_“... But I was wrong,” the vocalist ends, his voice barely above a choked whisper._

_Somewhere, some other people might be standing, huddled together on a Tokyo rooftop, watching all the lights in the nightscape. At this hour, the lights are glimmering at their brightest, sharp against the black of night._

_Here, under warm-coloured downlights, Toru finally opens his eyes and_ sees _._

_He breathes in the beloved cherry-tobacco. And then:_

_“_ Chotto _...” he breathes out, before giving into the gravity of the other._

*********

The smaller of the two gasps as his lips are slowly captured. He is beyond shock and his mind temporarily whites out, such is the assault on his senses. When his consciousness trickles back, he finds himself helpless against the pleasant sensations that unfurl in his mind and in his bloodstream, coaxed into life by the gentleness of the other’s lips and fingers that cradle his face. 

But then Taka’s bruised heart throbs; his self-protective instinct kicks in and he pulls jerkily away. That voice in his head that remembers empty homes and emptier beds reverberates in warning, curdling his blood. _This isn’t real_ , it mocks. _Alone, alone, alone_... Overwhelmed, the moisture gathered in his eyes spill like rivulets over his cheeks as he regards the guitarist. 

Toru sees the tear-stained look of cautious hope and fear on the face he holds in his hands and feels his heart break all over again. The look sears itself into his brain, and the guitarist silently and fiercely vows to do everything in his power to _never_ hurt this man ever, ever again. Whatever this thing is that ties him to the smaller man thrums violently with his resolution and the latter’s heart stutters under the onslaught of the guitarist’s emotion. _Never again_ , Taka hears as if the other has said the words out loud.

Ever so slowly, the vocalist nods.

With the urgency of an almost drowned man near shore, Toru surges forward and folds his beloved into his arms. The moles on their cheeks are perfectly lined up as the guitarist strokes the shaking vocalist’s hair with one hand and holds his back with the other. 

_Gomen ne_ , he whispers over and over until Taka’s shaking subsides.

*********

Later, after he’s laid down the exhausted, sleeping vocalist down on the couch, Toru picks up his _keitai_ off the coffee table and quietly pads over to the kitchen. He finds nothing in the refrigerator save for some eggs. Bending down, he opens the freezer door and finds several containers lined up. He removes one labelled ‘ストロガノフ’ and works out how to reheat it in the microwave oven for later. In the meanwhile, he finds the _shirogohan_ and cooks a cup and half using the old-fashioned evaporation method because he’s daunted by all the futuristic-looking buttons and settings on the automatic rice cooker.

While waiting for the rice, the guitarist unlocks his _keitai_ and finds an alarmingly long string of messages from Ayaka. They start from ‘I’m coming over’ and end with the latest from 20 mins ago that reads: ‘I’m still waiting outside your door’. 

Toru looks over to where the vocalist is completely passed out. He considers giving him a quick peck but doesn’t want to disturb the other’s rest. Instead, the guitarist makes sure the stove is on the lowest heat setting before he heads out as silently as possible. 

*********

“Where have you been?” Ayaka pushes off the corridor wall as soon as she spots him. Toru comes to a stop a metre away. She steps forward for a kiss, which the guitarist awkwardly evades. 

“Ayaka...” he begins to say, turning his head in the direction where he’s come from. She cocks her head in bafflement. _Could it be?_ she thinks.

Warily, she tests the waters by reaching for his hand, but he folds both of his hands into his pockets. She catches a whiff of cherry-tobacco as she steps back. Appraising the solemn look on the guitarist’s face, the clever girl quickly catches on. She knows it’s to do with the stormy cloud that’s been hanging over Toru’s head ever since that party at Tomoya’s - the one that had him looking at once both lost and angry whenever a certain best friend’s name was mentioned.

But the tension in his body’s not there any more, Ayaka astutely observes. The person that stands before her seems like a stranger and she questions whether she really even got to know the man. 

“Let me guess,” she arches a manicured brow, “it’s over?” 

Toru, turning back to her, at least has the decency to look remorseful. Before he can apologise, she cuts in with the remaining shards of her pride.

“Save it,” she says, “I’m not as cut up as you think; two months is nothing.”

The guitarist shifts his weight over his feet while considers his words.

“You still deserved better,” the guitarist laments. 

“I do,” she snarks back, to which he hangs his head.

Ayaka stares at the man she’s been dating and thinks that if it were a K-drama, she’d be slapping his face while the other person rounds the corner, right about now. But she’s better than that and, thinking back on the unmistakable gentleness Toru speaks with about the other, knows when to gracefully bow out. Right from the start, she noticed the other's stricken expression at finding out about their relationship. She was there when it was announced that Taka would be leaving soon, and saw the guilt and sadness in the singer's features as he watched Toru return to her side after his smoke break. She just thought she had a little more time to enjoy with the guitarist. 

Eventually, her indignity softens in the ensuing silence.

Sighing, Ayaka gathers her bag over her shoulder. She pats his bicep in farewell. Feeling generous in the spur of the moment, she leaves Toru with these parting words:

“Good luck. Oh and pro tip? Change your sheets.”

Which he promptly does.

*********

Taka slowly comes to when he feels his cheek being stroked and the press of lips on his forehead. When he opens his eyes, he’s met with a kneeling Toru, who drinks in his features like the singer’s the eighth wonder of the world. It reminds him of hundreds of mornings, but much, much better. Taka pushes himself off the couch as he half yawns, half sighs in happy disbelief.

“Come and eat,” Toru says, turning around to pick up a steaming bowl of food and a wooden spoon off the coffee table.

The singer rubs the sleep from his eyes while the guitarist blows on a hot spoonful of _shirogohan_ and some meat with sauce. When he’s satisfied, the latter brings the spoon towards the smaller man’s mouth. Taka sniffs curiously at it and his eyes widen when he recognises the dish. A small smile erupts on his lips, which then open to take the food in. Somewhere out there, whoever's responsible for the universe's master plan has a strange sense of humour, he decides. His twinkling eyes never leave the guitarist’s.

“What?” Toru says, unable to keep an answering smile off his face although he doesn’t know why. “ _Nandemonai,_ ” he thinks he hears through a mouthful of food. 

Taka, still chewing, scoots over to one side of the couch and pats the space he’s made available. His smile widens into a cheeky one and something suspiciously sounding like “ _Kochi koi_ ” leaves his mouth. Shaking his head with fondness, the guitarist gets up and folds a leg underneath him as he plops himself on the seat.

And so in that quietly joyful manner, the two partake of the home-cooked dinner in an apartment that feels less bare than it used to.

*********

Later that night, Toru fidgets on Taka’s doorstep after he’s quickly taken a shower and brushed his teeth at his apartment. 

Come back later? _the vocalist had requested, nestled with his back to the guitarist’s chest and between his legs._ Sure, _Toru had assented, his nose burrowing behind the former’s ear, where his much-loved scent was the strongest._

But now Toru’s nerves flare when he realises he’s navigating uncharted territory. However, before he can wind himself up too much, the door swings open to reveal a smiling Taka with half-dried hair and a delectable, freshly-showered smell. The singer’s soft smile fades and his lips part when he scans the simple black Henley sleep shirt that clings to the guitarist’s physique. 

Toru’s breath catches; he feels the stare like it’s a physical caress. A rising tide of something dark gathers underneath his skin. Emboldened, he steps forward and backs the smaller man into the apartment.

The door clicks shut and a small scrape resounds as Taka’s back collides with a wall. Toru stares down at the waiting vocalist and observes his eyes, which have darkened to almost pitch black, and his chest, which now rises and falls in rapid succession. In the back of his mind, an ancient instinct purrs in response to how he feels powerful towering over the other and more so at the challenging quirk of the vocalist's mouth. 

If the earlier atmosphere was as comforting as a cabin log fire, it’s now as if an ember has escaped and is floating downwards towards a pile of impatient tinder.

“ _Omatase shimashita_ ,” Toru murmurs. 

And Taka, who has patiently waited minutes, hours, days, months, years, finds he can’t wait a second longer and closes the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! 😆
> 
> Is it wrong to be affected by your own fic?!?! I don't plan these things out, I swear. They just write themselves.
> 
> Thank you everyone for your patience with this! I honestly started writing to amuse myself and indulge in my obsession with OOR. I'm glad to be able to make some people happy, like how Taka says he tries to with his music.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, so I have to draw your attention to the fact that the fic's rating has changed from Mature to Explicit 😅
> 
> !!!This chapter is definitely NSFW!!!
> 
> If you're not okay with sexy times and/or your poker face isn't great when reading such scenes, I highly suggest that you stop reading after the first 3 paragraphs and skip to the bit after the ***** scene divider.
> 
> Also, if you'd like translations for non-English terms, they're available in the end notes.
> 
> Lastly, a warning that I'm an L-plater when it comes to writing these sorts of scenes... 🙈

If Toru was hesitant before, the hesitation all but melts into the background as he allows himself to sink into the moment and be pulled along by the sensations. 

_“I’ve never been with a man before,” he had panted breathlessly between kisses, “Tell me what you like.”  
_

_“Just... listen,” Taka had gasped back, wrapping his legs around the taller man as he’s lifted and carried to his bedroom._

Now, Toru feels surrounded on every front; by the cherry-tobacco scent that soaks the sheets, the sight of a heavy-lidded Taka sprawled eagerly beneath him, and the minty-sweet taste of their mouths when they find each other in the near darkness. Their tongues rub against one another slowly in lewd promise of what’s to come. 

Taka’s body is harder than what he’s used to but his skin is surprisingly every bit as soft and smooth as a girl’s, the guitarist finds when his fingers drive underneath the singer’s loose sleep shirt. And the vocalist’s sounds when he scrapes blunt fingernails across his sensitive chest and belly... they ring in Toru’s ears and go straight to his groin. His lips pull away from the singer’s, keen to see what the other looks like when he’s adrift in pleasure. 

Toru watches in rapt fascination. He takes the smaller man’s advice and listens out for small hitches in his breath and the moans that vibrate against the guitarist’s mouth and chest when he touches here and there.

It’s almost as intuitive as playing his guitar. His fingers somehow know how to splay themselves against the fret board of Taka’s skin, and how to pick at his hardened nipples to produce the sweet sounds from the man he pins to the bed with his hips. Wishing he could swallow those sounds, the guitarist latches his mouth to the side of the singer’s throat and sucks fervently.

The guitarist is so drunk on the feelings, in the delicious slow rocking of their hips, that he barely registers Taka’s impatient hands lifting his shirt until it reaches his armpits.

“Off,” the singer pleads, to which Toru quickly complies. He dumps the shirt somewhere outside the tunnel vision that sees and feels only the man whose body he wants to worship.

“ _Kore mo#_ ,” Taka adds, fingers hooked into Toru’s pajama pants, which are thankfully loose enough to not chafe the latter’s groin, but not enough to hide the tent of his arousal.

The taller man’s too steeped in the moment to question the directive, or even feel an an ounce of embarrassment, as he shucks off his pants and his boxer briefs at the same time. Neither is he embarrassed when Taka's appreciative eyes rake down over his biceps, chest, abdomen and land on his erect member. His arms braced on either side of the singer, all he can process is how much he wants to give the vocalist everything he asks, and everything that the guitarist can give.

Taka’s teeth scrape hungrily over his own bottom lip as he feasts on the sight. Then, with a strength that belies his lithe body, he shoves Toru backwards until the latter’s back hits the bed none too gently. The guitarist is momentarily winded and the rough treatment keys him up beyond expected. He fights to catch his breath while the singer peels off his own shirt, wriggles out of his track pants and boxers.

And then without warning, Taka curls down and Toru is seeing stars as he’s enveloped by the singer’s hot mouth. The suction is intense.

A guttural groan is ripped from the guitarist’s chest when the singer’s lips eventually pull back to just the tip. _Kami-sama,_ he calls out internally as a strong, confident hand wraps itself around the guitarist’s base and begins to stroke in time with the suction.

Ina his previous encounters, it’s never been as good as this. His hips lift off the bed unconsciously and Taka takes the chance to sneak his other hand underneath the guitarist’s bottom and massage the taut muscle.

Toru absolutely loves being sucked off but, somewhere in his pleasure-addled brain, a thought coalesces that he wants to make the other man feel good, too. Twisting his fingers into Taka’s hair, he gently tugs until the vocalist’s slides off him with a moist pop. Toru pushes off the bed while the smaller man falls back onto his heels.

There’s a brief flash of insecurity in Taka's eyes but the guitarist leans in, cups the back of his head to pull him closer and kisses it away. They devour each other, savouring the changed taste, until they need to break for oxygen. When they pull back, Toru’s eyes contemplate his beloved’s half closed eyes, the rounded tip of his nose and his wide, swollen mouth.

Taka is small and almost vulnerable; he looks back at the guitarist like he’s hung every constellation known to man. Seeing this, Toru gathers him against his chest and has to swallow back the words that he’s too scared to voice out loud just yet. 

Never a million years would the guitarist have guessed that the moment his eyes first fell on the smaller man that it would culminate in _this_. 

Heart full, Toru slowly tips back the vocalist until he’s nestled back into his original position against the pillows. Trusting in the wisdom of the universe, the guitarist throws out his long-held notions of love and his sexuality; he redefines himself in each second that passes when he takes both himself and Taka in hand and begins to stroke, eyes and ears alert to his lover’s every response.

And Toru has never been more _awake_. He inhales the bittersweet mingling of their scents and the heady musk of sex, feels it behind his eyes and in the tingling sensation that courses his heated bloodstream and pools in his aching groin.

“ _Motto#_ ”, Taka cries out, eyes rolling back into his head.

The speed of Toru’s hand quickens to an impossible allegro in perfect rhythm to the singer’s moans that rise in pitch. Eyes having fallen shut in rapture, he fails to notice that Taka’s sounds turn into faintly shimmering musical notes that float up around the bed. More and more notes join the others in the air; they dance and collide into one another, changing colours as they do. 

But all the guitarist minds is this: the almost painful clawing of Taka’s hands at his back, the singer’s incoherent babbling that’s unbearably hot against his ear, the way the singer desperately draws up his knees as they race towards the final crescendo, the rapid throbbing and contracting of their hearts and their lengths in the guitarist’s hand, before...

*********

Toru catches the last of the musical notes from the corner of his eye when he’s revived from _la petite mort#_ by Taka’s absentminded mouthing at his neck. It descends leisurely until it disappears behind the far edge of the bed. The guitarist sighs, muscles completely relaxed and languid. He buries his face into the vocalist’s neck, marveling at the situation.

After a while, the singer wriggles beneath him and he hears a muffled “ _Omoi!#_ ” 

When Toru rolls off, he is met with a devilish grinning Taka, who pounces on him and pinches his cheeks and prods at his belly, careful to not catch his fingers on the stickiness there.

“You need to lay off the takeaway food,” the singer laughs, getting up to find a hand towel to clean themselves up.

Toru, can’t bring himself to be offended when he realises how much he’s missed this playful side of his long time bed and band mate, now lover. The last couple of months have been quite a rollercoaster of revelations, with none of the amusement.

While he waits, the guitarist turns his head and spots a framed photo on the bedside table. He picks it up and sees a familiar scene. _Did Taka place this here so he would feel less alone at night?_ he thinks. Toru _tsk_ s at himself, recognising the expression on Taka’s face in the photo - the same one that greeted him every morning he woke up next to the singer - alongside his own oblivious expression. Toru still can’t believe how lucky he is to have finally wisened up to the precious treasure that’s been by his side all along.

A wet cloth is wiped at Toru’s belly, which jumps at the coldness and startles the guitarist out of his reverie.

“I guess you’ll have to feed me then,” Toru murmurs, watching the smaller man’s loving ministrations. 

When he’s done, Taka, impatient and growing cold, throws the towel towards the laundry hamper against the far wall and dives into the bed, drawing up the covers over both of them. The singer snuggles under the guitarist’s left arm and wraps himself around the taller man like a barnacle clinging on for dear life. A sweet sigh escapes his lips and a drowsy contentedness is beginning to take over his body when he remembers the message that awaits him on his _keitai_.

Toru, sensing a slight change in tension in the vocalist’s body, pushes calming fingers through the latter’s hair and waits for him to speak.

“Hey so, about that, ” Taka begins...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> # Translations:
> 
> kore mo - this too.
> 
> Kami-sama - God.
> 
> motto - more. 
> 
> la petite mort - French expression literally meaning the little death; see here https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_petite_mort
> 
> omoi - heavy.
> 
> keitai - cell/mobile phone.
> 
> Um, so what did you guys think? Based on the responses, I may actually cut out the sexy times altogether 🙈 Let me know in the comments!


	9. Special Announcement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special message in lieu of a regular chapter.

First of all, my sincere apologies if you were expecting this to be a normal chapter! It will be coming out soon, I promise.

I just wanted to share with you an MV I made that was meant to be the original plot line for The Other Side:

**Home - A Toruka AU MV**

https://youtu.be/igLsr3BncX8

You can think of it as an alternative ending for the fic after the latest chapter - i.e. what if Taka accepts their American producer's offer to go solo and move to L.A.? Note that this will not be the actual ending for The Other Side.

I'm pretty excited about the MV since it's the first one I've made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! Let me know what you think. As always, thank you to all my lovely readers, especially the ones that leave comments 💖.


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter is finally here! Thank you for your patience dear readers! 🙏
> 
> I was kinda avoiding writing this one because I didn't want this story to end 😭 
> 
> Translations of phrases at the end. Enjoy!

Toru stands off to the side, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill over. The lump in his throat is making it hard to breathe. He swallows around it and takes in a shuddering breath.

In the corner of his eye, he sees their American producer John nodding in approval. The Japanese producers that did manage to make it to L.A. are almost solemn in their expression. It's hard to tell what they're really thinking. Meanwhile, Tomoya and Ryota are in a similar state as their band’s leader, except that Ryota’s tears do spill over unashamedly and leave discernible tracks on his face. 

Everyone’s eyes are zeroed in on Taka.

The singer, however, is wholly concentrated on his task. His hands brace the table as he scans on the document on it. Nodding once, he takes the pen next to it into his shaky hand. Toru waits with bated breath, as do the others.

Time slows down and the room becomes almost deathly silent; such is the gravity of the moment. 

A scratch of the pen - the final flourish of the vocalist’s signature - before he places it back down with a resounding click, and then it’s done. 

An immeasurable amount of time passes. In that stretch, who knows how many babies are welcomed in the world; how many people breathe their last; how many watch the sun rise, or how many watch it set. 

Toru feels more than a bit lightheaded, like he’s been dropped unknowingly into an alternate universe. 

Then Taka turns and lifts his own watery eyes to the guitarist. Their eyes meet and they understand wordlessly through their bond what _this_ means. Toru exhales the breath he’s been holding and the world resumes its normal pace. He’s rooted to the spot, still numb with disbelief that it’s come to this.

The others make it to the vocalist first, breaking the lingering eye contact. They clap his back and they offer him hearty congratulations on his decision. An applause rings around the room but the Japanese producers merely bob their heads, quietly wondering about the consequences. 

A brilliant smile lights up Taka’s face and he starts to thanks everyone for their support. He had hoped for this day for a long time but didn't think it would turn out like this, he says wistfully. 

Toru knows what Taka’s like when he begins one of his spiels; the smaller man can go on forever. (The guitarist _knows_ , because he’s the one that has to play the same chords over and _over_ again during lives until the singer runs out of steam.)

So before Taka can work himself up, Toru springs into action and covers the singer’s mouth with his own. 

The whole world falls away again and there might have been one or two scandalised gasps, but the guitarist doesn’t care a whit. 

All Toru cares about is that, together with this man, his now husband, he can’t wait to welcome babies to the world; to watch the sun rise and watch it set, until the day they breathe their last.

*********

After the legal ceremony, they host the small amount of attendees for a simple dinner party on the rooftop of Taka’s Santa Monica apartment complex. It’s festive - the darkening scene illuminated with endless strings of fairy lights that Ryota went a little crazy with - but it’s not too fancy. 

Later, they’ll probably hold a much fancier celebration in Tokyo so that more of their family and friends can attend. But for now, they take in the jovial atmosphere of their nearest and dearest swapping stories about them.

Tomoya regales everyone with the story of the stubborn receptionist that thought Taka and Toru just didn’t understand English. She had explained what a queen room was in five different ways and was about to try another, until a peevish Taka had snapped: “I know what it is, and yes I’d like to sleep with him.”

(Everyone guffaws and Toru leans over to kiss the adorable flush that colours his husband’s cheek. "How come I didn't hear this?" Toru whispers in his ear. "Think that was the hotel whose lobby toilet you were busy clogging up," Taka whispers back.) 

Then Ryota tries his hardest in English. He occasionally looks to his wife for confirmation, but devolves into wild hand gestures to explain how startled he was when he went to find out why the (then secret) couple were taking so long to “make coffee”. 

(Then it’s Toru’s turn to become a tomato when he remembers how Taka was driving him crazy with heated stares from across the studio, before he dragged the singer to the kitchen to find relief.)

And Takeru proudly claims that he’s had the tea all along. He tells everyone how he realised how far gone Taka was for Toru when he first saw matching towels in the singer’s bathroom years ago*. He ends his speech with an outright threat to eviscerate the guitarist _Hitokiri Battousai_ -style# if he ever knowingly hurt his best friend, before he reverts back to his usual mild-mannered, innocent-eyed self.

(Toru’s eyes comically widen and Taka turns a half circle in the guitarist’s arms to lovingly pat at his cheek.)

But it’s words from Taka’s father ( _my father-in-law now_ , Toru supposes in his head) that unexpectedly draws the most attention.

He, like his son, first thanks everyone for the support they’ve given the newlyweds. He humbly asks that everyone continue to do so, especially since they’ve decided to remain in Japan, where same-sex couples are still discriminated against. (The Japanese producers sigh underneath their breath. The veteran singer's words are translated by Toru’s brother, who is the polar opposite of the guitarist and was an excellent student in all subjects including English.) 

Then, with his signature rasp made raspier with emotion, he haltingly expresses his deepest gratitude to Toru for seeing the best in his son. He thanks him profusely for giving him the appreciation and family he needed at the time his son needed it the most - when his own family couldn’t. (And Toru unconsciously tightens his hold around his husband’s waist, feeling the echoes of hurt in him like they're his own.)

He continues by saying he’s got high hopes for the couple. He knows they’ll weather the storms because they’ve chosen to continue their careers together, and not with one left behind. (To this, Toru’s mother-in-law silently breaks into tears at this admission of fault, but is immediately comforted on both sides by her other sons.)

He ends by asking everyone to lift their champagne flutes up in toast.

“To my beloved son, my wonderful new son-in-law, and any future mini-Gachapins!” he cheers.

The crowd’s tears turn to laughter. And Toru knows, without tearing his adoring gaze from his husband's face, that the sky above them is filled with the faintest shimmer of musical notes.

*********

Much later, they’re left alone on the rooftop when the last of their guests leave. Luckily they’ve booked the space until tomorrow afternoon so there’s no immediate need to clean. Besides, their guests helped clear most of the mess.

Taka glances at the elegant watch that adorns his wrist - the one that the band members gave him on his 30th - and smiles when he sees the time. 14 years ago, they would have probably been starting their band practice just about now. 

Since there’s no one left to entertain, the vocalist finally gives in to the exhaustion from the long and eventful day and collapses on a nearby chair. 

“ _Naka naka tatenai#_ ,” he sighs, watching his husband. A little fire is revived in him as he silently admires the way the sleeves of the guitarist's formal white shirt are rolled up to reveal his gorgeous forearms. 

Toru, looking up from picking up some random streamers and placing them in a garbage bag, replies: “ _Kedo, mou kaerou yo.#_ ”

 _He must be drunk_ , Taka thinks, because the apartment below isn’t their home per se, and their literal one is on the other side of the Pacific Ocean. The singer starts fiddling with the thin white gold band that unassumingly decorates his finger. He is beginning to worry about whether they'll be welcomed back by their fans given the news.

But then he remembers the English idiom that ‘home is where the heart is’ and his eyes soften as his husband wanders over to him. 

“ _Mou kaerou_ #,” Taka agrees, but knows he’s already there.

_Owari._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Self-reference to my other fic Oblivion, which could probably take place in this same story world but earlier.
> 
> # Translations:
> 
> Hitokiri Battousai - Sword-drawing Manslayer, in reference to the Sato Takeru's character in the Rurouni Kenshin movie series . 
> 
> Naka naka tatenai - I really can't stand up. Note: Watch Taka's IG live from Jan 2020 to hear them say this and the next few lines themselves! Guaranteed to make you uwu!
> 
> Kedo, mou kaerou yo - Still, let's go home.
> 
> Mou Kaerou - Let's go home already. 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with this story! 😊
> 
> Like I said at the start, I'm still learning how to write multi-chaptered stories. I'm not entirely happy with the scant plot and the unevenness of the tone at times, but hopefully this means I'll write more for practice. Your feedback is always appreciated. 'Til next time lovelies 😘


	11. Omake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first, I didn't want to ruin what I thought was a pretty good ending to this story.
> 
> But I couldn't shake a certain image in my head (in the last section), which I've included here.
> 
> If you don't want to read anything too intimate, skip past the first section, past the ***** divider. Translations are at the end as usual. 
> 
> Enjoy this bonus chapter 😊

It's one of Taka's favourite sensations. That feeling when you teeter on the boundary between sleep and wake: the pleasant drowsiness that a good rest gives, balanced by eagerness to start the day. It's even better when he's allowed to slowly rise to consciousness, like awakening to the gentle intensifying of morning sunlight, as opposed to jolting awake to a floodlight of a _keitai#_ alarm or the sudden cries of an unsettled infant.

Today is one of those treasured, slow-waking days.

The first thing he becomes aware of is the reassuring solidity of the body molded perfectly to his own: the big spoon to his little one.

The second is the hand that curves around his hip and rests on his belly, its long fingers drawing warm, lazy circles on his skin.

The third is that it's blessedly quiet in the room and that, when he strains his ears, he hears nothing out of place in the apartment.

It's the last observation especially that has a contented sigh leaving his lips, alerting the other that he's awake. In response, the fingers on his belly begin to widen their circles. Their path now flirts with the elastic band of his boxers, and sliding underneath it on each pass, they are brought dangerously close to his morning wood.

And just like that, Taka's drowsiness is rapidly replaced by an eagerness that has his toes curling underneath the blankets. He lets out a soft moan.

Before he can turn around, however, he hears a whisper in his ear: "shhh, ok?" before the lobe of his ear is captured between soft lips. He silently nods.

The lips nibble a leisurely path up and down the shell of his ear, before moving on to his sensitive neck. He throws his head back to give the other better access. His intention is perfectly read; hungry kisses are placed at the junction of his jaw and neck, where his blood pulses with growing excitement. At some point a hot tongue darts out and joins in the action.

Taka bites his lips to stifle his noises when the wandering fingers finally breach the tent of his boxers fully to wrap themselves snugly around his base. The stroking that follows is steady in rhythm and firm in grip: just the way he loves it.

Once in a while, the hand breaks rhythm and strokes all the way up to his tip to palm the extra sensitive slit there. It makes him leak. When this happens, he arches his spine and rubs back harshly against the other's hard-on, which is seeking its own solace in the cleft of his behind. Craving more connection, his top arm reaches behind him to tangle his hand in the other's long hair. He knows the other appreciates it when he gives a feisty pull of the strands to show how much he's enjoying this.

On and on, they quietly stroke and grind, growing ever hotter underneath a shaft of morning light that passes through the half-opened window blinds.

Soon, Taka feels his belly clenching and his shaft quickly contracting and expanding as the sensations build towards the climax: another of his favourite sensations. His self-control is slipping, and he turns his head to smash his mouth against the other's in a woeful attempt to smother the pleasured cries that threaten to break free of his throat.

"So good, so good," he chants in strained whisper when their rhythms become desynchronised in the frenzy and their mouths detach. The other groans and bites down on his shoulder; it's a sure sign that he, too, is almost there.

The hand on him redoubles its speed and all of Taka's focus is redirected solely to the throbbing in his groin. At this moment, nothing exists but the sheer need to sate it; lately they've been so tired and stressed from their busy schedules that he really, _really_ craves it.

"Oh," he cries, almost at the precipice, " _ohhhh_..."

"God, I love you," the other's low whisper filters through his intense concentration.

It’s the shock of the occasionally muttered words - said in perfect English no less - that pushes him off the edge, at last.

Taka only vaguely recalls the other's name being ripped from his lips during the fall, mind caught in the gratifying waves emanating from his sex.

As he comes down from the high, he feels a hot exhale of a breath on his neck and the violent shuddering of the other's body. Eventually the grinding on his arse slowly comes to a stop, and the other hand that had somehow sneaked its way underneath his body to hold him close by the other hip finally releases its tight hold.

He turns himself around.

*********

The blissed-out look on his husband’s face is almost enough to make Toru’s playful look of disapproval slip - _almost_.

“You really can’t keep quiet, can you?” he jokingly admonishes, as he quickly turns his soiled hand over, careful not to let its contents drip onto the bedding. He flips himself on to his back to stop his own release from doing the same.

“I tried,” Taka shrugs, his eyes lovingly scouring over the taller man’s face. It’s something he never tires of doing.

Toru finds himself mirroring his husband’s expression. He grows curious when, out of the blue, a shy expression creeps into the smaller man’s features in the form of a bitten lip. 

“ _Ano#_ , before I forget,” his husband murmurs, looking up through his lashes, “I love you, too.”

It never fails makes the breath in Toru’s chest catch after all these years. They don’t say it often, preferring to demonstrate the sentiment through actions instead. The rarity of the words give them a certain weight. 

“What did you say?” the guitarist says, furrowing his brows and feigning ignorance, “I didn’t catch it.”

Taka rolls his eyes.

“I said,” the smaller man enunciates, shoving his suddenly cheeky face closer, “I. LOVE. YOU. _BAKA!#_.” 

Toru’s eyes widen in panic. He darts in and gives his husband a quick peck on his cheek, before jumping out of bed and running to the ensuite.

“Wha-?” A bewildered Taka begins, blinking in confusion as he hears the gush of a tap. Then: 

“Quick! Wipe yourself,” his husband says from doorway, lobbing a moistened face cloth in his direction.

Taka finally catches on when he hears a wail from beyond the far wall, and frantically cleans himself up.

“3...2...and 1...”

Right on cue, they hear the patter of running feet before the creak of their bedroom door being pushed open. Toru closes the ensuite door with a click. The vocalist has just enough time to straighten himself up and turn to throw the dirtied face cloth over the far side of the bed.

When he turns back, he’s greeted by a tiny face whose worried, Gachapin-like eyes are brimming with unshed tears.

“’ _tou-chan#_?” the child’s quivering voice questions. His head can barely be seen over the foot of the bed.

“ _Doushita no#,_ Shion-chan _?”_ Taka asks, eyes softening and heart melting at the sight.

The vocalist opens out his arms. With a teary hiccup, the boy clambers up on to the bed and throws himself into them. Taka cradles the small body in his arms, privately marveling at how it grows taller with each passing day. He presses soft kisses on to the plump cheeks.

“Did you have a nightmare, _‘tou-chan?_ ” the boy sniffles. “I was sleeping but I think I heard you yelling before. I thought it was a dream but then I heard you shout again.”

Taka instantly colours in embarrassment. He covers it by burrowing his face in his son’s hair and inhaling the sweet smell of it.

“ _Gomen ne#_ ,” the vocalist soothes the child, “’ _tou-chan_ didn’t mean to scare you.”

He rocks the boy and starts to hums a soft tune under his breath. The melody is something he makes up in the spur of the moment, and he pours all the comfort he wishes to give and love he feels for the child into the notes.

A thought crosses his mind that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to jot down the notes later for the upcoming album he’s meant to be writing. 

Huh, his inner voice wonders, maybe the album's concept could be based on the experiences of fatherhood since we’re all fathers, now. 

He ponders this idea with a fond grin on his face.

Slowly, the child settles and is apparently asleep, if the deep, even rise and fall of his chest was to be believed. The knowledge that his son is okay and the comforting weight of his small body on Taka’s chest (perhaps his favourite sensation of all) lulls the vocalist into closing his eyes. He continues his humming until a pleasant drowsiness returns. 

Distantly, the sound of tinkling water on shower tiles comes to a stop.

*********

When Toru opens the ensuite door, he is immediately stopped in his tracks.

His husband is dozing against the head of the bed with their son in his arms, both completely oblivious to the golden sunlight that bathes the room and beckons them to start their day. He squints when he spies a shimmer of a note, like a dust mote in the light. 

The guitarist doesn’t know how long he stares as he carefully carves the scene into his memory. When he’s satisfied, he stealthily pads over to the window and pulls a cord to completely close the blinds shut. He then gingerly gets on the bed, cognisant of placing his weight on it slowly enough to not cause a disturbance. Nonetheless, the child stirs and partially opens his eyes. 

“Papa?” the boy murmurs sleepily.

Toru merely shakes his head to hush the boy, and reaches a finger to caress the soft skin between his eyebrows. Like magic, his son’s eyes drift shut within a few seconds. He may have Toru’s genes, but the complete trust the boy places in his papa such that he falls readily asleep to a simple gesture of reassurance is all Taka, through and through. 

Then, turning away, the guitarist picks up his _keitai_ off the night stand. He taps out a quick text to the others to postpone their studio session until late afternoon. He carefully places the device back on to the stand without waiting for a reply. His husband won’t be waking any time soon if he considers the comical slackness of the smaller’s man’s opened mouth - an endearing habit that betrays his tiredness. 

Smiling to himself, Toru leans over, places his head on his husband’s shoulder and makes himself comfortable. He turns slightly so his nose is closest to the pulse point where his beloved’s signature cherry-tobacco scent wafts strongest. 

Without a shadow of a doubt, Toru knows that the warm feeling that floods his chest in the quietude is his favourite sensation of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> # ketai - mobile/cell phone  
> # ano - a Japanese utterance showing hesitation, like how the English 'um' is used  
> # baka - idiot  
> # 'tou-chan - a very casual way of referring to your father, a casual contraction of 'otou-san'  
> # doushita no - 'what happened?'/'what's wrong?'  
> # gomen ne - 'sorry'
> 
> Who guessed that the image I had in my head was their son in Taka's arms and Toru admiring the sight? I chose the name 'Shion', because I thought they would want a name that could be easily Anglicised - it sounds like 'Sean'. He is about three and half years old here.
> 
> Oh, if you ever wanted to know why I constantly reference a cherry-tobacco scent, it's because I started this story when I was obsessed with Tom Ford's Lost Cherry fragrance. Try it one day in a department store and you'll see what I mean!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this bonus chapter. I really wanted to tie all the ends neatly since I noticed I started the story based on the 'sharing beds' premise and the references died away after a while. I wanted to bring it back and put an extra spin on it here 😊
> 
> Stay safe everyone! Your comments and feedback are always appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments also give me joy! I don't know how to describe the feeling when people encourage you to continue your work.


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